


Except for the Memory

by VesperRegina



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1870602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperRegina/pseuds/VesperRegina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memento given for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Except for the Memory

**Author's Note:**

> For nekisahloth at Tumblr. Prompt was 'sand'.

"Lisbon."

Teresa turns back, and Patrick sits up on the couch, patting the space beside him. Her smile flickers -- a little wary, a little amused -- but she sits, anyway. That smile grows a little when he takes her hand, unexpectedly turning it over.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing. No, really. I just have something to give you."

True to his word, he places a clear small bottle in her hand, and says, "There. No funny stuff."

The glass isn't cold, but warm -- he'd been holding it for awhile, she thinks -- and she turns it over in her palm, grateful that the top is corked, as grains of sand, dark as brown sugar, tumble inside. A glimpse of something inside, whiter than the sand, catches her eye, and she brings it closer, turning it over and over, until she can see that it's a note, with something written on it.

She quirks her head and casts her gaze sidelong to Patrick, who just sits, with a soft expectant smile on his face. She turns the bottle over more, the handwritten words on the note difficult to uncover, until she puts them together and reads them aloud.

"'If I could save time in a bottle...'?"

Patrick nods. "'The first thing that I'd like to do is save every day, until eternity passes away, just to spend them with you.' Jim Croce. Not me."

"I got that. God, you're sentimental." She tries to hide her smile by turning away and biting at her lips, but it still lingers. She clears her throat, and asks, "Is this sand from...?" She trails off, hesitant in voice and manner, looking at him, through glimpses. 'You shouldn't be that embarrassed, Teresa,' whispers her inner voice.

"Yes. It is. Call me arrogant; but you love it."

"Yes, yes, I will call you arrogant, and annoying, and --"

"Okay," Patrick says.

Teresa looks down at the bottle, away from the tension in Patrick's face, at her fingers curled around it, a tight grasp, so no one can take it from her. "For our future."

"I like the sound of that."


End file.
